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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513843">352 cenz</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolitecactus/pseuds/apolitecactus'>apolitecactus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Poverty, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolitecactus/pseuds/apolitecactus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy didn’t have enough money to buy textbooks for his next year at the Academy. Without the textbooks, he won’t be able to study well enough to get the next scholarship.<br/>He also didn’t have anything to show at the alchemy exam.<br/>He was just a pretentious little alchemist who thought that he could work at the factory one day and easily get the state certification the other day. It just didn’t happen this way. Everyone in his shift worked at the factory for tens of years now; many of them had tried to become state alchemists, and, of course, they hadn’t. There were no miracles in life, and even if there were, they weren’t about to happen to someone like him. Miracles liked pretty rich people like Armstrong who lived in their perfect world without buses, poor people, hunger, factories – and with all these nice things like fancy croissants and personal alchemy teachers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>352 cenz</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! In case you haven't seen bus conductors, those are the people who work inside the bus, collect the fare and shout the names of the bus stations. Also, they always stand next to the doors. At least, this is the version I'm used to, you may have other conductors in your cities :) Sorry if you already knew.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was early in the morning when Roy woke up to the sound of a drunk skirmish outside. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Amestris banned the sale of alcohol, there were countless <em>more</em> drunk people on the streets now. People were getting alcohol – lots of it – somewhere in the speakeasies everywhere in the city. Yet the legitimate establishments that had sold alcohol before the prohibition were getting inspected every single day. Not that his Aunt’s bar did very well even before the prohibition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally managed to fall asleep again – just a second before the alarm rang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left his bed in a swift motion and proceeded to the bathroom. His gaze in the mirror was bleak, and his whole expression worn-out. With his shirt on, in his well-ironed trousers, he looked more befitting of an academy cadet, but he knew that his left sleeve lacked a button and his trousers were just a little bit too short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downstairs in the kitchen, the breakfast already awaited him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Aunt Christmas prepared the breakfast herself. Annie wasn’t working here anymore; they had to let her go last week. He noted that there wasn’t any bacon. There wasn’t any milk in his coffee either. Unlike yesterday, they didn’t have a fresh newspaper. Another part of his morning routine gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any plans for today?” Aunt Christmas asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go to Maes. Need to check our essays before we’ll send ‘em,” Roy smiled politely and took a big bite of his fried eggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At 6 in the morning already? Huh, and these charlatans expect <em>us </em>to pay <em>them</em> to send our children to the army if they don’t like your essays?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy didn’t say anything in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuition for the military Academy was the unimaginable 120000 cenz per year. He knew that last year, the profits of his Aunt’s bar were about 70000 cenz. And this year, they expected to make losses. So if he doesn’t get the scholarship this year – if some pricks at the Academy deem his essay not ‘patriotic’ enough, then he simply won’t go back. But he was certain in the good outcome. His grades were good enough, and that was all that mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left his house right away and ran in the direction of the bus stop. In fact, he wasn’t going to Maes. He submitted his essay a long time ago. He didn’t want to tell his Aunt that he was working at the factory. She wouldn’t like it. Despite the losses, letting the workers go, the ban on alcohol, the coffee without milk – she still lived in the belief that they weren’t poor. At least, not poor enough for him to work at the factory. Summer jobs at shops and bartending at the bar were fine, but she’d feel like she failed at providing for him if she learned that he works at the factory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus was full just like it always was at 6 in the morning. He barely fit inside, squeezing himself between the endless bodies around. Outside, it was freezing, yet inside the bus, it was hot, and he felt that there wasn’t any air inside. He liked commuting by bus though. It was one of the only moments throughout the day when he could actually think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, about the money. His savings at the moment comprised meagre 7450 cenz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed the money for many things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never told about it to his Aunt, but books at the Academy were expensive. 2000 cenz each, and he needed to buy every single one of them because they were supposed to submit their home assignments written directly in their books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘An integrated exercise book!’ was written on every textbook. The publishers probably thought that they were making the textbooks more convenient. Or maybe they knew that otherwise, only the rich students would buy them, whereas everyone else will borrow books from each other, buy the books from the former students, or simply not buy them at all…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was worse for Roy because he needed alchemy books too. The alchemy books were even more expensive. He tried to find used books at the flea markets, but there weren’t any alchemy books. Damned alchemists and their stupid habit of hoarding books…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the uniform. The Academy allocated them one pair each year, but no one ever survived with one uniform throughout the year. So there went another 10000 cenz. The alchemy exam itself cost another 3000 cenz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was ridiculous if he thought about it. He paid his own money to risk his life for the military. How did the great Hero of the Western front pay for his tuition at the Academy? Or how did the Waterscale Alchemist – the one who saved an entire battalion in the 1861 battle of Briggs – afford his alchemy books? He had hundreds of lessons about the heroes of the last wars, but he never learned about <em>these</em> details.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riverside, left hill,” the conductor shouted, and Roy realized that he missed his stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, please!” he said when he finally managed to squeeze his way to the doors, and the said doors closed right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sleep in the bus, you chav,” the conductor scolded him in response, but he gestured the bus to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, it was raining. Roy ran as fast as he could, but he knew already that he’ll be late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was at the factory in 5 minutes, breathing heavily after the run, wet from the rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Late, Mustang,” the shift manager said, looking at his watch. Roy nodded. He was only two minutes late, but he knew from his experience already that arguments never helped. “I’ll put 10% on your sign-up sheet. You know what it means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy started putting on his work apron and the goggles. He knew exactly what 10% meant. He’ll get 252 cenz for this day instead of his normal salary of 280. Well, he made a little bit yesterday helping their neighbours with the fence, so at the end of the day, he won’t lose any money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mustang, 5 minutes almost up. Why so slow today?” the shift manager was there again. They only had 5 minutes to put on their uniform, and there was another penalty for using too much time. Thankfully, the Academy at least taught him how to dress quickly – which was to the day the only skill from there he actually used. Not so many opportunities to use military strategy or explain someone the “Art of War”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked in the direction of the production line, dragging the box of raw materials with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alchemic array was there already, stamped on his table. The array itself was fairly simple. Anyone who learned alchemy for half a year could use it without issues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed a piece of glass and a metal brick on his table and put his hand on the array. It started glowing under his touch, the familiar flow of alchemy filling him again. Some time ago, he got excited every time he used alchemy, but he forgot this feeling after exactly one day of working here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his hands, the rear-view mirror was formed. He put it away and started working on another one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew why the factory used alchemists to do something seemingly so easy. The motors of the cars and any other mechanisms inside rarely changed with the new models. The outside design, however, changed rapidly, and factories preferred to use alchemists to build these parts rather than buying new mechanisms that would manufacture these parts automatically. There were not so many factories that employed alchemists – the defect rate of using alchemy instead of automation was too high, so if this particular factory opted for alchemy, then Roy personally was happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if his workday was filled with very few decently good moments. Looking at the clock and knowing that the time didn’t stop like he felt it did was one of them. He allowed himself to look at the clock no more than 5 times in an hour. Then, the chance to get the bonus was nice…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The best thing though was the chance to see Maes during their lunch pause. This time, he found Maes showing others his knives in the common room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roy, come ‘ere – tell them that it’s true, I’m at the Academy,” Maes shouted when he saw him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Roy smirked. “I see you for the first time in my life. Now, <em>I’m</em> at the Academy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up bud,” Maes smiled in response and then gestured him to join his table. Roy sat next to Maes, trying not to focus on the fact that everyone else at the table was outright staring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, how do you like it in your alchemyland, you prick?” a tall guy next to Maes asked in the low and somewhat growling voice. “I’m carrying boxes all day, and this baby still gets twice as much for his mumbo-jambo at the table!” he said, pointing his finger at Roy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Big Guy, he’s good,” Maes said, turning in the direction of this guy. His voice was louder than usual, and Roy realized that he was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy didn’t really care and focused on eating his sandwich. It wasn’t his fault he was getting a bigger salary than all these other workers for what seemed like an easier job. And his job wasn’t as easy as it seemed. He had to calculate every single time, and the metals and glass often came in different sizes or even made of different materials. He knew that others in his production line produced more defective mirrors than he and most of the time, earned as much as anyone in non-alchemic positions. They probably wanted to have this job anyway, as it was somewhat more prestigious to work as ‘alchemists’ rather than simple factory workers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’m talking to you, you little thug,” the Big Guy stood up and positioned himself right in front of Roy – he could feel his heavy breathing tickling his forehead. “How do you like earning more than all of us? Do you even sweat like we do ‘ere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy smirked and took another big bite of his sandwich. Just this moment, the sandwich disappeared right out of his hands, and Big Guy lifted him by the collar with his single hand. Roy shifted uncomfortably – the buttons on his collar were dangerously close to being torn out. He didn’t have any money to buy another shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Big Guy, stop!” Maes said and tried to physically drag the Big Guy away from Roy. He looked a bit ridiculous at that – small and thin, trying to overpower someone as big as Big Guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The chav’s just a weany little boy. Really, Big Guy,” another voice said from behind Roy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Big Guy shrugged and simply dropped Roy back. “Have fun, y’all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy hit his elbow in the process, but he didn’t really care. His first instinct was to check his shirt – thank God, the buttons were in place. He saw a hand in front of him and realized that Maes was there, awkwardly trying to help him to get up. Roy smiled as wide as he could – truly, seeing Maes here at the factory was the moment he was looking for the whole day – and then, his smile sank when he looked at his sandwich, now uselessly lying on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have half of mine,” Maes said after Roy finally returned to the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Roy thought about it, Maes looked even more tired than yesterday. And yesterday he looked more tired than the day before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you should take at least one evening off, right?” Roy said, swallowing a big piece of Maes’ sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My speakeasy is only open on Thursdays, Fridays and weekends anyway,” Maes answered dismissively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy didn’t say anything else. Maes was working two jobs which was entirely unhealthy for someone who was only 17 years old, yet there was no other way for him to make enough money for school. Roy personally wasn’t sure if he saves enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lunchtime will be over in 5 minutes,” the shift manager shouted behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy nodded absentmindedly and walked back to his production line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like he was about to fall asleep right here, standing at his workstation. Which probably wouldn’t fare well for his defect rate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, if he made a little bit more mirrors today and tomorrow, he could take a day off after that? He really needed a day off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around to see if the shift manager was looking and then took a sheet of paper from his backpack. On the sheet, there was another alchemic array. This one was faster than the elementary array they used all the time here. He put it in front of him, trying to look as inconspicuous as ever, and started quickly working on more mirrors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shift managers hated it when they used their own alchemic arrays. Roy didn’t know about it the first day he was here, and he almost lost his job that very day. Yet he personally didn’t see any problem with using special arrays. It wasn’t his fault that other alchemists in his production line made too many defective mirrors with their own arrays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was afraid to lose this job. There weren’t many job openings in the city right now. He was absolutely lucky to stumble upon this position. The city was filled with beggars, hungry children, and the unemployed looking for any jobs. It was always this way now, since what the newspapers called “the Blue Tuesday”. Roy couldn’t fathom how businesses closing and people not having money to buy food was connected to some suits selling paper on the stock exchange, but he knew one thing. He was lucky to be accepted to the Academy. Then, he was also lucky to get a scholarship and even hope for another scholarship this year. He was lucky to have a job. And even a single day without the job meant that he wouldn’t be able to buy all the necessary books next year. And without books, he wouldn’t have good enough grades to apply for the scholarship next time… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His array worked well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was making persistently more better-quality mirrors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he finishes earlier today and with a bonus? This was certainly something to look forward to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered how a month ago, just a few days after he almost lost his job for using this array, he went to the constructor’s bureau. The engineer who met him there was extremely <em>polite and understanding</em>, but he wasn’t even remotely interested in his array. He patted him on the back and asked if he was preparing for the state alchemy exam. He was. The engineer didn’t say anything else, but when Roy finally left, he heard them all laughing inside the room. “Another one,” someone said, and Roy never went back to this room again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was there even point to apply for the exam?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was capable of coming up with good research ideas – he had them all the time when he was studying by Maestro Hawkeye – but now, he had nothing. Nothing except ways to make faster calculations to make mirrors. There wasn’t anything special he could show, and his teacher deemed him ‘unworthy’ of learning flame alchemy, whatever it meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he hated alchemy right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard footsteps behind him and quickly placed his hand on another array drawn on the sheet, and the sheet transformed into a spotless white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mustang, we have rules about foreign objects at the workstations,” the shift manager told, gesturing at the paper sheet. Roy nodded and hastily put the sheet into the trash. He proceeded to do his mindless task using the array stamped on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll finish enough mirrors in time for the bonus now anyway, considering how he had a chance to use his array for more than two hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult to keep with his schedule for the rest of the day, but he managed. His hands were tickling from using too much alchemy too quickly, but he made enough to get the bonus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the day, the shift manager checked his bunch with doubled suspicion, looking at every single mirror closely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You take home at least 4 bonuses each month, Mustang,” the shift manager said then. He somehow didn’t sound satisfied. “Just so you know, we’re running the oversupply this month. Starting from tomorrow, you’ll have to produce 50 more mirrors to get the bonus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy nodded absentmindedly. So here goes his hope for taking the day off. They knew that no one would be able to build 50 more mirrors, so it was an effective way to deter anyone from even attempting to get the bonus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off his apron and goggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mustang, come here,” the shift manager said. “They’re letting me go tomorrow, so I’ll pay your salary for today now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy followed him to the counting room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You earned more than me this month, Mustang. Well done,” the shift manager said quietly. His face was sad. Roy personally didn’t feel any pity towards him. There were too many shift managers and they were all too nosy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your 352 cenz, Mustang,” the shift manager put a few coins in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy counted them over, just to be sure. Three hundred-cenz coins, a 50-cenz coin and two 1-cenz coins. Getting the salary was another decently good moment at this work for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maes was in the dressing room, waiting next to Roy’s coat and the backpack, looking around, watching over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an apple left. Do you want some?” he asked, and Roy smiled because he <em>wanted </em>some and because his best friend was it – the <em>best</em> friend ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about Big Guy today,” Maes continued. “It’s so funny actually. He’s a communist. And he said that alchemists have means of production since they know the arrays and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy took a large bite of the apple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then by this definition, his arms and legs are also means of production, aren’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, he takes it way too literally probably. But hey, it’s not his fault they prohibited all these books. Even I can’t explain what means of production are after having an entire class on ‘Critique of Communism’, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just as I said last time, this class couldn’t be a cakewalk only because you were supposed to criticize books you can’t read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, if there was beginner’s level knife-throwing, I’d sign up for it like a certain someone signed up for beginner’s level alchemy class. Though I wouldn’t ever get a ‘B-’ in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy sighed. His ‘B-’ in the alchemy class came up way too often in the conversations with anyone. Even his Aunt sometimes made jokes about it. It wasn’t his fault. The class was boring, and they had to write an essay at the end, and they only got to learn actual arrays in the last class. Next time he has to choose classes, he’ll find something nice and easy and without essays, like Introduction to Chemistry or the Ikebana class he was eyeing for the entirety of the last year and felt it was too girly to sign up for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they were almost at the bus stop, he saw his bus. He ran after it, but the doors closed right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!” he shouted, breathing heavily, kicking the air in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is another one coming, Roy,” Maes said somewhere very close to him. There was, indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said his goodbyes to his friend – he felt a surge of loneliness every time when he had to leave Maes which was quite unhealthy if he thought about it – and prepared to squeeze his way inside the next bus. However, the bus was almost empty. He didn’t have to squeeze inside. There was enough air to breathe, and it wasn’t hot at all. There was even an entire free seat. It was almost an impossible sight during rush hours, but sometimes he was just lucky, wasn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat on the free seat, and on the left side of him, there was this beautiful lady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at her, almost automatically, because he got used to flirting with all girls around him. This was the type of behaviour that earned respect at the Academy, and he strived for more respect in any possible ways because he was a nobody from a bar who had to work at the factory to earn money for his uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady smiled in response but something in her expression indicated that she wasn’t interested. So he didn’t pursue it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep here, right in his seat, with his backpack tightly squeezed in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Central Boilerhouse,” the conductor shouted, and he woke up and started running outside. The door shut right in front of him. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, stop, the kid lives ‘ere,” the conductor shouted, and the door opened. Roy ran outside, sending a thankful glance to the conductor. Mark, was it? This guy always worked in this bus, and they practically knew each other for years now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, he felt not tired, like he always felt after a short nap. He smiled, and then his smile sank when he incidentally touched the zipper on his backpack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His backpack was wide open, and he remembered <em>closing</em> it back at the factory. He reached his hand, hesitantly checking if everything was still inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The backpack emitted a strange emptiness. No sound was coming out when he shook it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checked once again, looking inside and then using both his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his 352 cenz had been in the backpack…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably, the beautiful lady on the bus was a pickpocket, and she had enough time when he so carelessly fell asleep next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checked once again and then he was sure. His backpack was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped right in the middle of the bus stop, feeling like he was about to cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could he be this careless just after having received his salary?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the entire 352 cenz, and there was no way for him to get the bonus once again…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like some stupid idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he certainly didn’t have enough money to buy the second part of the Military strategy textbook, and the teacher was very strict about trying to submit home assignments not in the exercise books. He knew it from his own experience, from his ‘C-’ in the Military strategy class last year. This year, the teacher won’t be <em>this</em> lenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart skipped a beat, the realization dawning at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He will fail the Military strategy, then he won’t get the scholarship for the third year, and then he will work at the factory for the rest of his life and will have arguments about whether alchemists have means of production with all Big Guys out there during every lunch pause, and then he’ll ride this bus, and go home and save money to buy a new jar of jam…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mustang, I am so happy to see you!” a cheerful voice behind him said, and then he felt enormous arms hugging him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so deep in his thoughts – his realization of his personal catastrophe – that he didn’t react the same moment. Only when the arms finally released him, he managed to put his polite and emotionless mask on his face and look up at the intruder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Armstrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Alex, what do you do here?” he said, trying to adopt Armstrong’s accent, trying not to sound like he lived just two steps away from the red lights district, and like he was about to cry because of 352 cenz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to explore the city more,” Armstrong said, sounding proud of himself. “My alchemy master says I have to know how other people live. Do you know that some people survive on only 1000 cenz per day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy squinted a little bit, trying to see if Armstrong was serious when he said it, but then he saw tears in the corners of Armstrong’s eyes and realized that he was indeed being absolutely serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you also exploring other people’s lives for your alchemy studies? My teacher says that’s the only way to learn the techniques that were passed down the Armstrong family line for generations,” Armstrong continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Roy straightened his posture and said in a firmer tone. “Yes. You know how people use <em>buses</em> to move around the city, right? I tried using one today. An absolutely unforgettable experience,” he finished with a smug smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buses?” Armstrong somehow deflated and looked at the buses coming to the station gawping. “How… did you fit inside? And… how did you pay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy smiled once again. Armstrong always meant well, yet he rarely knew about the simple everyday things. He didn’t know how to iron his clothes and used alchemy for it. He bought all Military Strategy books last year, not realizing that they only needed the first part for the first year. And now, he was absolutely stunned by the idea that someone used <em>buses</em> to travel around the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fit inside the next bus. All I need to do is to try hard as all Armstrongs do!” Roy looked at the bus Armstrong was referring to and realized that it wasn’t that full in the first place. “But…” Armstrong started speaking hesitantly. “Can you pay instead of me, please? I know there’re conductors but how do I know which one is a conductor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” Roy started dumbfoundedly because he never thought about it. Conductors never had a uniform on, yet he never had issues finding them inside the bus. He never ever thought that someone may not recognize the conductor. “He’s the one shouting the bus stations, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouting?” Armstrong said, sounding outright worried. “Please, can you pay instead of me? Will 800 cenz suffice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the ride, I mean. At least for one stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Roy said hesitantly because he had an idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armstrong will never ever ride in a bus again, and he’ll never know the actual price of a bus fare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he had <em>lots</em> of money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Roy needed his 300 cenz to buy the Military Strategy book. The one Armstrong bought last year <em>accidentally</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this wasn’t entirely unethical, was it? It’ll be just a charity from Armstrong’s side since he was so concerned about people who survived on 1000 cenz per day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only 7 cenz,” Roy said then quietly. He just… couldn’t. He wasn’t a thief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“7?” Armstrong gasped. “Do they… Do they give change from…” he started looking inside his pockets – Roy looked away because there were many banknotes in his pockets, and he felt nauseous at the thought that it was probably more than his entire lifetime earnings. “From 500 cenz?” Armstrong said, proudly holding the coin in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, though they’ll be a bit grumpy that you pay with so much money,” Roy stopped, realizing that it sounded like he knew too much about buses. “I tried to pay with the banknote today, you know, 1000 cenz because I don’t usually keep coins anyway, and the conductor didn’t like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any change left?” Armstrong started hesitantly. “If you have 10 cenz, then I’ll give you back at the Academy… Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t keep coins,” Roy said, trying to sound confident, but then his smile sank once again after he thought about the pickpocket lady, the Military strategy book, the future exams, his own future…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Armstrong asked then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy nodded, biting his own lip. He wanted to cry here, right in the middle of the bus station, and he had to force himself to stop – at least until Armstrong leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s okay,” Armstrong said, hugging him tightly once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thought Roy had at the moment was that Armstrong’s pockets were wide open, and he could steal one of these shiny banknotes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forcefully yanked himself out of the embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’m fine. Just you know… girls,” he noticed Armstrong’s envious gaze and smiled, proud of the little lie he made up. “Need to go. Alchemy master said that I have to see more of how ordinary people live, you know? ‘Alchemy, be thou for the people,’ right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your alchemy master sounds great. What’s his name? I study by the one who taught everyone in the Armstrong family for generations, but I’m always looking for more inspiration for my exam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You probably don’t know him,” Roy didn’t want to say that he wasn’t studying by Maestro Hawkeye for two years now after they didn’t have any money to pay for his apprenticeship. “Magister Loopseye. He’s in Xing at the moment, and he left me tasks for the summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Armstrong didn’t sound persuaded. When it came to alchemy, they both were competitive. Roy knew that he was better at practical alchemy, but in the beginner’s level class, Armstrong was a teacher’s pet and got an ‘A’. Everyone in the Academy – even the teachers – were sure that Armstrong is the next big thing when it comes to the alchemy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have to leave now, sorry,” Roy said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could leave after just another hug from Armstrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was no more than 5 minutes walk away from the bus station, he finally allowed himself to cry. His backpack felt <em>empty</em>, and he felt empty too, his mind numb from doing alchemy for the whole day. He was absolutely sure that this was going to be his life now, and somewhere in the future, 20 years from now, he’d laugh with his friends in some filthy bar somewhere in the red lights district at his naïve dreams to become a state alchemist and graduate from the Academy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have the money to study at the Academy well enough to get the next scholarship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also didn’t have anything to show at the exam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was just a pretentious little alchemist who thought that he could work at the factory one day and easily get the state certification the other day. It just didn’t happen that way. Everyone in his shift worked at the factory for tens of years now; a lot of them had tried to become state alchemists, and of course, they hadn’t. There were no miracles in life, and even if there were, they weren’t about to happen to someone like him. Miracles liked pretty rich people like Armstrong who lived in their perfect world without buses, poor people, hunger, factories – and with all these nice things like fancy croissants and personal alchemy teachers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Aunt was at the bar, looking at the door, expecting customers. Her smile became disappointed when she saw him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is your essay, Roy-boy?” she asked, now smiling like she was glad to see him. “Don’t you want to take a day off from your essays?” she asked then when he was putting his empty backpack and the coat on the hanger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shirt was dirty once again, its sleeves almost black from working with steel the whole day. He felt his Aunt’s gaze and averted his eyes. He forgot in his worry that he usually took off his coat somewhere in his own room. She probably saw that he was crying too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have a fight, Roy-boy?” his Aunt asked, and her voice sounded <em>hopeful</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Roy answered firmly. He was tired of lies, having to conceal his work, having to work at the factory in the first place… It was all useless now. He won’t save enough money. There was no point in even trying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it the automobile factory at Centre Hill Street or the porcelain factory next to the Old Church?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Automobile,” he gasped at the question. “How do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are only two factories in the city that employ alchemists,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry that you had to resort to it… But we had this talk right after you were adopted, remember? You don’t have to do all of it by yourself, and you have to tell me if you need help. That’s what families are for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, swiftly wiped out the trails of tears from his cheeks and sat on the barstool in front of her. There was no money at the bar. They were running into debt. And he couldn’t ask her to fire Jacklin to get himself a little bit more money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any customers today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. The policemen came by three times though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy nodded. Just like always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, are you going to tell me? I thought you had enough pocket money. Do you owe money to someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Roy said firmly, a little bit hugging himself. “’m not going back to the Academy anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she asked with a look of utter surprise on her face. “Did your scholarship results came back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just not cut out for it. ‘m not going to be a state alchemist, and my grades in everything else are just average. So I won’t get any good career out of it even if I stay. Maybe I can hope to become a corporal with these grades,” he sighed. “I should have volunteered for the regular army just like everyone else does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean you’re not cut out for the Academy where they gave you a ‘B-’ in Alchemy and ‘C-’ in manipulations? Maybe they’re not cut out for you, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was military strategy, it’s something completely different…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet you had to learn half of the ‘Art of War’ by heart. Do they think that people on the battlefield cite the ‘Art of War’ to each other, or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy smiled. He was going to use all of it to cite it to some Big and Short Guys at the factory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt Christmas looked at him closely and then hugged him with one hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was serious when I said it. You’re cut out for the Academy and anything else you wish to achieve. Don’t let anyone else convince you otherwise.” There was so much conviction in her tone that if she said this about anything else, he’d be worried about her obsession with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just…” he sighed and shut his eyes as strong as he could because he felt like he was about to cry again. “I dunno. I guess I can go back, and I don’t really need to be a state alchemist, then I can focus on my studies, and then I’ll graduate from the Academy…” he didn’t feel like this was the best option. He hated it. He was in the Academy with the goal of being a state alchemist but now, if he thought about it, being back at the Academy with a scholarship was almost certain. If he spends the money on his non-alchemic books, then he’ll have enough money to live through the year and enough time to get good grades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only won’t have a chance to be a state alchemist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And why would he need it anyway? It’s not like he was a genius alchemist. He was just slightly less dumb than beginners, but this was it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll finish the Academy and get a job of a warrant officer somewhere in a provincial city and then raise to the rank of a Second Lieutenant if he’s lucky. All jobs somewhere in Central were given to the sons or daughters of the current generals anyway. He won’t rise in ranks without his alchemy certification, but he’ll have a decent life. He may even protect people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to be a state alchemist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but…” he started hesitantly. He wasn’t in the mood to tell that he wasn’t saving enough money because he liked sleeping in buses too much like some stupid baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’ll take as much money as you need from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he shook his head. This wasn’t even up for discussion. They were deep in debt, and he won’t be the one who’ll run this place into the ground for his stupid dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She briefly shuffled his hair with her big hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave it to me to decide whether I want to pay some money to the military so they consider whether you’re good enough to work for them. Consider your alchemy exam fee paid. A birthday gift, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how…” he started, running calculations in his mind. There was no money. Catastrophically no money. He wasn’t even sure where the money for the food and the electricity came from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mortgaged the bar,” she told, not even looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he shook his head. “No, you cannot. Mortgaged?!” his voice reached high notes. “You realize that we won’t ever pay this money back, right? It’s the same as selling it! You said that this is your home… We could keep it if we stop spending too much money… Why wouldn’t you just shut the bar for the time being and fire everyone?” he started saying with much more conviction. “You’re not supposed to pay people when there’s hardly any job for them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she sighed. “Jacklin has a kid and no one else to support her, Alex’ mother is sick, and she couldn’t get her into public hospital… I had to fire everyone else, but there’s no way I’m firing these two. At least unless they find another job. And I haven’t seen any job openings in months, so they won’t. With the money from the mortgage, I’d be able to buy a small house for us to live. It’s the best decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy wanted to say that he and Maes both found jobs and Maes even two – but then he remembered that Maes’ father had connections at the factory and at the speakeasy where he was working. For women without connections and with sick relatives to care for, there were absolutely no jobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t have to pay for my exam! We should do all we can to save this place, right?” Roy told then very fast. He didn’t want to lose this place. He didn’t want to find out one day that some rich pricks bought it and made a tasteless café with these pink curtains and cheap plastic tables. “Didn’t you tell me that this bar stand was built by your grandfather out of ancient Xingese oak? And your great-grandpa personally dig the fundament? And this was the place where the Peasant riot of 1851 started, wasn’t it? How could you even think of mortgaging it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was also his home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he felt safe for the first time since he lost his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he tried beer for the first time (apparently, it was a non-alcoholic brand – her Aunt told him after he spent half a day thinking that he was drunk).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he asked a girl for a date for the first time (and was rejected the very same moment).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he first tried alchemy and immediately felt that he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Roy-boy,” his Aunt said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. She shuffled his hair once again, and now, the gesture was so gentle… “But this is just a house. Walls, bricks… There’s no value to it when people have to go hungry to sustain it. All that matters is our memories. And we all have lots of them. So this place will live on. We’re like salamanders. They shed skins, and then live much better with a new one. And we’ll be better when we shed of this place and find a new place to live. And I’m not allowing my little boy to feel worse than anyone else because he cannot afford a stupid exam fee. I'd choose your happiness over every single ancient oak bar stand in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just won’t succeed at it,” Roy said very quietly then. “I have nothing to present. No original research,” he smiled. “I guess the military doesn’t need thousands of rear-view mirrors. And that’s all I could produce now. Really, you can do whatever you want with this bar – it’s yours. But you can as well bury the money in the ground rather than paying for my exam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Roy-boy,” now, his Aunt sounded stern. “I just want you to be happy and not be limited by our finances. Take the money from me. Think. If your best idea to use it is to bury it in the ground, then fine. Do it. I just want you to pursue your goals, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression was so sincere and proud, that he felt smaller under her gaze. He knew that she loved him so much, but he couldn’t even not lie to her. He couldn’t give as much love in response. And he never did anything to deserve her praise or love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baffled, he just whispered, “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And went back to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was already in his bed, something about salamanders bothered him. In a way like when he heard songs he recognized but couldn’t remember their names. He dug deeper under the blankets, trying to remember all he knew about salamanders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amphibians.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold-blooded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stay on the sun if they’re cold and then hide away if they’re too hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shed their skin and lose their tails…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did he feel that salamanders were important?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it struck him. Maestro Hawkeye used salamanders to control fire. Roy never understood it before, but now it all became clear to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salamanders adapted to their surroundings, they were basically controlled by the weather. So was the fire. The fire needs to be controlled from the outside, by manipulating the conditions in which the fire exists. Flame alchemy controlled the air around the fire rather than the fire itself. At such, it was more of air alchemy, and the secret to learning it lied in learning about manipulating the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t really a research idea for now. And he must have been stupid to <em>not</em> realize all of it before. But now, lying in his bed, he decided that he’ll focus on studying air as his alchemy speciality next year at the academy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t the smartest guy around. Certainly, not the luckiest. But he didn’t want to be controlled by the circumstances surrounding him like salamanders – or fire – allowed themselves to be controlled. He’ll fight and he’ll work harder, but he won’t give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided that he’ll apply for the state exam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, the sleep came very easily to him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
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